


The Stars Are Crumbling

by astriddanes



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Angst, Doomed Relationship, F/F, Jaina gets the strap, Sex, let Jaina say Fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17567906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astriddanes/pseuds/astriddanes
Summary: A Sylvanas/Jaina oneshot about doomed love, cruel duty and the burden of uncontrollable war.





	The Stars Are Crumbling

**Author's Note:**

> _someone will remember us_  
>  _I say_  
>  _even in another time_ – Sapho

 

Their love has become a burden. A weight that shifts in Jaina’s heart each time the sun rises on a new battlefield.

 

Soon the verdant green fields will be nothing but mud and bones for decades to come. Soon the horns will sound, and the armies will shudder awake like rippling water, moving against each other. She knows this dance well.

 

Soon smoke will fill the air.

 

Soon arrows will rain down upon them, straining the mage shields.

 

Soon, she will die. 

 

* * *

 

 

Even the stars are crumbling.

 

The shamans say that the ground is cracking apart. The Cenarion Circle talks about illnesses that ravage flora and fauna, leaving nothing untouched. At times, the ground splits open and swallows a piece of the land never to be seen again.

 

It is the undoing of Azeroth.

 

The seas surge against the coastal cities, ravaging harbors. The ruins of Theramore flood, and Jaina travels there to survey the damage. It is her duty to watch over the place when no one else will. But not even her, the daughter of the sea, the parter of the mists, can do anything here. Water reaches up to her ankles as she walks the graveyard.

 

They never did erect enough gravestones. They never did find the time to honor each and every one lost.

 

In the night sky, the moon is bigger than ever, blotting out stars. Some days it never sets, the eclipse darkening the lands.

 

It is a reality out of balance with itself.

 

They ride together through the razed lands, ash still raining like snow, covering the darkened remains that stand. A jagged, crumbling landscape of losses and victories that hardly matter, in the grander scheme of things. The war passed through here months ago, but fires still rage in the mountains. Everything has an acrid scent to it.

 

”There used to be an inn here,” Jaina says, staring at the rubble of what used to be a building. ”I came here with Arthas, the night before Stratholme.”

 

Sylvanas says nothing.

 

”It is so long ago now, and yet I remember that night perfectly.” Jaina dismounts from her horse, picking her way through the charred wood. She stands in the middle of the ruin, turning around, her hood pulled up and the shadows of it hiding her face. ”We sat by the fire, eating and talking. Well, he talked with his men, and I sat there to keep warm and read.”

 

”Why do you treasure these memories?” Sylvanas cannot help herself. She has to ask. They make no sense to her.

 

”Because I have never felt as warm since as I did that night.” Jaina stirs up the ash and dirt on the ground, poking at it with her shoe. She spots something, hunching down to rifle through the debris.

 

Sylvanas snarls, leaping off her skeletal horse and darts to stop Jaina’s hands. ”There could be broken pieces of glass in there,” she says, holding Jaina by her wrists. ”Nails. Don’t.”

 

Their eyes meet, and Jaina has that look to her – that she needs to do this, and she will do it, no matter what anyone says. No matter if you try to hold her back. She can be so stubborn. Sylvanas pushes her aside and begins digging herself. There are sharp things in there, but they only lacerate her already dead hands.

 

A glimmer at the back of the hearth catches their attention, and Sylvanas extracts it carefully. A vial of sand, but the sand inside shimmers like liquid, shifting in bronze and green.

 

”The bronze dragons used to spend a lot of time here, before.” Jaina takes it from Sylvanas, twisting it in her hands. ”When this was still Andorhal.”

 

Even the bronze dragonflight has started vanishing into time. More and more things fall apart, get lost, end up forgotten.

 

Jaina pockets the vial before they resume their ride towards the Ghostlands.

 

* * *

 

 

Their love starts long ago, in a better place. In a softer place. A time when Jaina’s hair shone golden like sun, and when blood still thrummed in Sylvanas’ veins. Just one perfect moment. A kiss under the trees that they remembered forever.

 

And then, later, their love returned, just as powerful. Not even the onslaught of years has been able to reduce the force of it, just strengthen it. Memories held onto.

 

When the Lich King dies, Sylvanas asks Jaina to forget her. She has done what must be done. Now the rest is to be dust.

 

Jaina looks at her as if she cannot fathom what is happening. At their feet, Arthas lies dead. It is done. The king is dead, long live the queen who felled him. Long live them. She drops her staff and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, kissing Sylvanas without flinching. Sylvanas stands still, frozen, terrified.

 

”Tell me you didn’t feel anything,” Jaina whispers, her lips touching Sylvanas’ when she speaks. ”Tell me there’s nothing left for us.”

 

”I…”

 

Jaina takes her hand and puts it over her own heart. ”I never stopped thinking about you,” she admits, weaving her fingers in between Sylvanas’. ”I ache for you every day.”

 

”I have died. I am not who you remember.”

 

”I love you as you are now,” Jaina says. ”I will love who you become tomorrow.”

 

”Jaina, I can’t.” She tries to untangle herself from Jaina, even though it hurts her, even though Jaina holds on tighter. ”It’s too late.”

 

”Bullshit,” Jaina says, with such force that it makes Sylvanas stop. A blush creeps up to her ears. ”I’m sorry. I did not mean to curse.”

 

”Why do you want me? Because you feel guilty?” Sylvanas made the gesture of the Holy Light, the one the priestesses made when forgiving the sins of a faithful. ”I absolve you. There. Now let me go.”

 

Jaina held on to her nonetheless. ”I want you because I never stopped loving you.”

 

”Stop,” Sylvanas pleads. Something is constricting in her throat. She hates that this young human can do this to her. She hates that she is here, clinging to her. But she does leave, and she regrets it. She drives the dagger into Jaina’s heart because what else can she do? Save the ones left alive. Let the dead days die.

 

And then, much later, their spiral downwards started. A kind of game. Look the other way. Pretend there is nothing amiss.

 

Deep down, both know otherwise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were chances, of course. So many. The one, when the war was just beginning, when the Alliance laid siege to Undercity and they got lured into the maze of underground passages that went on for ages, Jaina pursuing Nathanos alone and instead blinking right into Sylvanas.

 

They are both stunned with surprise. A terrible time for a reunion.

 

Jaina is faster, throwing a spell at Sylvanas and hurling her up against the wall. She just can’t stop. There are so many icicles and Sylvanas screams, an unearthly banshee scream, a whisper of the shadowlands in it. It is blood-curling, hair-raising. Still Jaina maintains the cascade of spells.

 

She’s angry, and she’s hurt, and she hates Sylvanas in this moment. How dare she do this. How dare she escalate a simple conflict to this brutality. How dare she meet her like this.

 

In a hopefully futile gesture, Nathanos throws himself in the way of the glacial spike Jaina has prepared, and it pierces through his chest. He falls to the ground, the red glow of his eyes dimming as he stares up at Jaina. His hands reach for Sylvanas.

 

His voice crumbles, but he tries to speak nonetheless. ”My queen… I failed you…”

 

”Sleep, Nathanos,” Sylvanas says, voice raw from screaming. ”Dream no more.”

 

”No…” He tries to move, agitating the spike.

 

”You have served me well.” She looks at Jaina. ”Show him mercy, and finish it.”

 

With a wave of her hand, she releases the magic holding Sylvanas up, and the banshee queen puts her hand on Nathanos’ brow. She whispers something low enough for only him to hear. He lets go, because she asks it of him. His loyalty an undoing.

 

Jaina clenches and unclenches her fists, straining to stay together. She knows back-up is coming, she knows they will find her any minute now. Sylvanas watches her every movement.

 

”Is this it, love?” Sylvanas asks, holding on to her injured shoulder. ”If it is, then do it.”

 

”Shut up!” Jaina throws up an ice wall to block the way she came from. ”Why did you do this? Why?”

 

Sylvanas smiles bitterly, blood not her own smeared on her chin. ”Does it matter now? It has begun. You can end it now if you want.” She goes down on her knees, swaying a little. ”You should end it. Strike me down.”

 

”You have val’kyrs waiting to bring you back.” Jaina waves her hand. ”You have something to escape this time. Like you always do.”

 

”No,” Sylvanas says. Her voice is soft. Her eyes tired. ”It is just you and me here now. What will you do with me?”

 

Jaina shapes a sharp blade out of ice, slicing her finger along the edge, blood dripping down on Sylvanas. She raises the sword, lowers it, tries again. She shakes her head, looking away. ”I killed you once. I cannot do it again.” She drops the sword and it shatters into a million tiny pieces. She stands, hands empty, in front of Sylvanas.

 

Sylvanas takes Jaina’s hand in hers and brings it to her face, making Jaina cup Sylvanas’ cheek. She thinks  _do it do it do it_ , looking up at Jaina. Her blue eyes are wet, but she is not crying. Sylvanas don’t know if she would be able to ask for death if Jaina cried.

 

She kisses the inside of Jaina’s wrist, catching a whiff of a scent from long ago. She still wears the same perfume she did then. It wrenches something loose in Sylvanas and she digs her fingers into Jaina’s arm. There are many things she has tried to forget – how her skin reacts to the sun, how the warmth seeps into ones body, how Quel’thalas looked before the razing, how much Jaina meant to her before – and none of them has been successful. It has made her bitter. It has made her cruel.

 

”Why not,” she demands, pounding her fist against Jaina’s leg. ”You have to. You  _need_  to.”

 

”I can’t,” Jaina says. As if it is a simple, irrefutable fact. As if it is all that matters. ”You died because of me. I can never undo that.”

 

”So what? You will always try for redemption because of that?” Acidity sneaks into her voice, lacing her words with poison.

 

”Yes.” Jaina touches Sylvanas’ cheek softly, her thumb going over the marks on her cheek. ”I am always seeking to fix things.”

 

”Then do it by killing me!” Rage rises like bile in Sylvanas’ throat, and she rips at Jaina’s dress, pushes her up against the wall. ”What is wrong with you? Why can’t you do this?”

 

Jaina stays quiet, her hands still so damn soft on Sylvanas. Why must she be so sweet, so delicate? Why can’t she just pick up the sword and run it through her? Why can’t she end it?

 

”You are weak,” Sylvanas spits, ”and you are pathetic.”

 

”Yes,” Jaina sighs. ”I am. I still love you. I can’t…” She puts her hand at Sylvanas’ neck, her fingertips tracing Sylvanas’ jawline. ”You can’t ask this of me.”

 

Sylvanas rests her forehead on Jaina’s thigh, her hands on the back of her leg. ”You torture me. Every day.” She feels Jaina tense up. Good. ”Every day since he died, I have struggled for reason to live on. To endure. I tell myself that you will die soon. That it will ease my question.”

 

”Sylvanas…”

 

”You still have the same softness in your voice when you say my name as you did in Quel’thalas. Don’t you understand how painful it is to hear you speak like that?”

 

”I wanted you. Always. I still do.”

 

Sylvanas raises her head, and stands up in front of Jaina. She pins Jaina to the wall, boxing her in with her arms. ”You can tell me to stop.” She ghosts her lips across Jaina’s. ”You should tell me to stop.”

 

”Kiss me. Please.”

 

Around them, Undercity is collapsing. Everything she has worked for is being ruined. And Jaina is begging for a kiss. Of all things they could be doing to each other, it has to be tenderness.

 

She gives in. Their lips meet. Tentative at first, cautious. It is a return to an old love, an old familiar soul, but their bodies have changed. They have changed. Then Jaina darts her tongue out, and Sylvanas cannot resist anymore. She has tried not to give in for so long. Treasuring old memories, pretending that is enough.

 

But here the past is flooding in, overwhelming her.

 

Jaina holds her, clinging to her as they deepen the kiss. Everything is different, but this is the same. Sylvanas could almost feel alive again.

 

Jaina throws up a shield around them to protect them from the falling rocks, breaking free only to whisper a quick incantation before she continues kissing Sylvanas.

 

”Tell me we will meet again,” Jaina breathes against Sylvanas’ neck. ”Tell me we can do this again.”

 

”I promise.”

 

She portals them out to safety, on different sides of the retreat both the Horde and Alliance have called for.

 

And so their spiral downwards truly begins.

 

* * *

 

 

Taking a break at the abandoned Light’s Hope, Sylvanas convinces Jaina to spar with her again. In front of the broken chapel, they shed their heavy armor and meet each other on equal terms. They have done it so many times already, learned each others moves, but still Sylvanas tries to harden Jaina by forcing her to press a dagger against Sylvanas' throat, over and over, until she stops flinching away.

 

Jaina flinches today again, much to Sylvanas’ disappointment.

 

”I would not hold back,” Sylvanas says, pressing the blunt edge of a dagger against Jaina’s neck.

 

”Because you know you could raise me afterwards. See, there’s no real stakes in my death for you.” Jaina pushes the dagger away, slicing her fingertip on it as she slips. She puts the finger in her mouth.

 

”Do you want me to promise not to raise you?”

 

Jaina nods, finger between her lips.

 

Sylvanas hears the hard edge creep into her voice as she tears off a piece of her shirt and takes Jaina by the wrist to wrap the fabric around Jaina’s finger. ”Why? Is my existence so horrible to you?”

 

Jaina shakes her head. ”It’s not that.”

 

”Then what is it?”

 

”If I die, let me die. Let go of me.”

 

Sylvanas tightens the knot on the fabric too hard. ”You are asking so much of me.”

 

”Because I want it to be an even thing between us. Does raising me solve anything?”

 

”I would do it for the same reason you cannot kill me.” Sylvanas touches Jaina’s cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips. She tastes the blood on Jaina’s tongue, and deepens the kiss. She cannot say the word, it weighs too heavily on her to utter it, but she can do this and hope that Jaina understands.

 

When she ends the kiss, Jaina is blushing in that way she does when the heat rushes to her cheeks and her body wants more. It is endearing. It is so… Alive.

 

”So we continue to be at a stale-mate.”

 

”You need to be ready to do it.”

 

Jaina shoves Sylvanas onto her back, straddling her waist and bending down to kiss her.

 

”Jaina…”

 

She tears at Sylvanas’ clothing, ripping the makeshift bandage off in the process and getting blood all over Sylvanas.

 

”Jaina.” Sylvanas calls her name again, trying to make her respond. Instead Jaina bites her collarbone, her breast, hard enough to leave deep imprints. It hurts in the way Sylvanas likes it to sting.

 

She puts her hand on the back of Jaina’s head, tugging at her hair. ”Jaina, please.”

 

”You know I can’t,” Jaina says, not looking at her.

 

It is enough to get Sylvanas to push Jaina off and turn them around. ”Fight me,” she demands, her mouth a snarl, and Jaina only meets her blows half-heartedly. They have been practicing hand-to-hand combat for years, sparring in secluded forest clearings, making it seem romantic when they tumble into each other and kiss.

 

Only the crisis point has come. They have to do something to each other. Anything.

 

”Fight!” Sylvanas jerks Jaina up to a standing position, and Jaina tries to teleport away but Sylvanas catches her wrist and twists it hard enough to dampen the flow of magic through her way.

 

Jaina grits her teeth and deflects a blow from Sylvanas, steps out of her baited feint, but does not match aggression for aggression. She just tries to avoid. ”Fleeing isn’t an option.” Sylvanas lands a hit on Jaina’s chest, and she crumples, coughing. It makes Sylvanas back off, just an inch, and Jaina uses it to sweep Sylvanas’ legs out from under her.

 

”I can’t!” Jaina puts her booted heel on Sylvanas’ throat, pressing down. It does nothing, of course.

 

Sylvanas runs her hands up Jaina’s shin, making it seem tender until she gets to the back of the knee and hits the nerves there with a sharp jab. Jaina pulls back, cursing under her breath, and Sylvanas stands up. 

 

”You have to face it.” She brings Jaina to her knees. She bends down and yanks at Jaina’s hair, forcing her to look her in the eyes. ”We have to face this.”

 

This is the truth of them. Sylvanas knows it already. Hopelessly in love. Hands tied by their love for each other.

 

* * *

 

 

There are still cities that play at being neutral. Where they try to keep up pretense of peace of mind.

 

Dalaran has cast itself in that role, taking it upon itself to provide some sort of sanctuary. It kind of works. Everyone walks around wrapped in illusions, shielding them from harm. They begin to call it the city of masks, and then people start wearing masks there. Nobody is who they really are anymore.

 

It has begotten a strange atmosphere.

 

They meet in the open, disguised as others. Jaina’s hair shines golden in her illusion. Sylvanas opts to be forsaken, bones jutting out, hollow eyes. They hold hands in the open, kiss in the open. It’s part of the scenery of the city. While the Council of Six is too split to bargain for peace on a wider scale, they maintain it here with viciousness. Tragic love meets and finds its solace here.

 

Some call it the city of a thousand doomed lovers. All names fit the new, tense Dalaran. It’s a city of lovers pretending everything will be fine. Eventually. Someday.

 

They sit together in the gardens of Jaina’s house and for a brief moment, with eyes closed, Jaina thinks that she can feel freedom when the sun hits her face. They shed their illusions and play pretend: that they are happy. That everything has ended up as it should be. That the world is right again.

 

They kiss in the shade of the cherry blossom trees. Cold lips meeting hers never ceases to make Jaina jolt, just for a second. Sylvanas shoves her up against the wall, hard, pinning her there. Jaina kisses her furiously, tugging at Sylvanas’ collar. She wants this. She needs this. She begs, and Sylvanas smiles.

 

”You are always so needy,” Sylvanas teases, pushing up Jaina’s dress to touch her thighs.

 

”And you’re not?” Jaina shoots back.

 

Sylvanas scrapes her sharp teeth along Jaina’s neck, biting down. ”I try to keep it to myself.”

 

”You do a poor job of it.”

 

Sylvanas moves her hand up the inside of Jaina’s leg, pauses, laughs. ”Why are you not wearing anything underneath?”

 

Squirming, Jaina tries to evade Sylvanas’ fingers as they skim at the seam on top of her hip. ”I thought you might want to have… Easy access…”

 

”You should have told me in the tavern. I would have made you enjoy it earlier.” She moves a hand down between them, whispering an activation word. ”I found the most interesting thing in a shop the other day. The mages are really profiting off the sad lovers here.”

 

Sylvanas moves in between Jaina’s legs, making sure Jaina feels the conjured strap-on pressing against her naked thigh. Jaina peeks down at the strap and her eyes widen at the size.

 

”I know how you like it,” Sylvanas whispers, biting at Jaina’s earlobe. Putting one of Jaina’s legs over her hips, she lets the tip of the strap-on nudge against the hooded clit. Jaina digs her fingers into Sylvanas’ shoulders, gasping.

 

”That’s… What kind of spell is that?”

 

”The right one.” She slowly pushes into Jaina, inch by inch, pausing to take in Jaina’s response. Jaina likes it like this, almost too much for her to bear, she likes feeling filled until she’s just on the point of where pleasure transforms to pain. It is a fine line, and Sylvanas treads it carefully. She wants Jaina to remember this. She wants Jaina to remember everything she ever does to her, in case she survives Sylvanas.

 

Jaina bites her lower lip, eyes closed and head rolled back against the tree. In response, Sylvanas pulls out, and Jaina’s eyes snaps open.

 

”Look at me,” Sylvanas demands.

 

Eye contact is hard with them. But in this moment, with her dress crumpled up around her waist and sweat trickling down her neck, Jaina does as she is told. She clings to Sylvanas, one hand on the back of her neck.

 

Slowly, Sylvanas pushes in but she does not stop. She enjoys the whines that turn into moans that turn into cries of pleasure trickling from Jaina’s lips. When they are flush together, she tilts Jaina’s head up by the chin. ”Good?”

 

”Good. Great. Excellent.”

 

She moves a little, to test how Jaina reacts. A moan. Fingers digging into her back. Perfect.

 

She fucks Jaina against the tree, in slow careful motions at first, making sure that Jaina keeps up. That the balance is maintained. Then she makes the strokes longer, deeper, building up the pace. Jaina, in turn, wraps her legs around Sylvanas, driving her deeper in.

 

”Please, yes, there oh there please harder  _more please_ –” A litany of breathless begging spills from Jaina’s mouth, she tries to kiss Sylvanas to shut herself up but she can’t focus, can’t make herself pause long enough to let her mouth stay there.

 

When she comes, she screams so loud that Sylvanas has to clap a hand over her mouth. Her legs shake, and Sylvanas carefully repositions them down on the ground with Jaina on top. She brushes Jaina’s hair as she waits for her to come back to her body, to be grounded again.

 

Jaina rises up, her long hair covering her face as she begins to ride the strap, grunting as she pushes herself down harder on its length. Sylvanas touches Jaina, her stomach, her breast, the curves. When Jaina tries to unbutton the clothes Sylvanas wears, she stills Jaina’s hands, re-directs them back to Jaina’s own body. She doesn’t want it to be about her today.

 

As Jaina comes a second time, she trembles, holding Sylvanas’ hands, before she carefully eases herself off to lay down on the grass. When the strap-on slides out of her she groans, loudly, a final pang of pleasure ghosting through her. Then they lie there, quiet, listening to the distant din of Dalaran while Jaina plucks at the daffodils that have spread all over her neglected garden.

 

”What flowers do you want on your grave?” Jaina asks, looking at Sylvanas. She holds petals between her fingers, delicate, pollen getting on her hands.

 

Sylvanas thinks for a moment. ”Black dahlias.”

 

”I want red rose bushes, growing wild with big thorns. I want it to grow and grow, taking over everything nearby. I want it to keep everyone at bay.”

 

Another moment of silence. Then: ”You went back to my grave, didn’t you?”

 

”Yes.”

 

”Did you put flowers there?”

 

”I always do.” Jaina closes her eyes, tries to hide her face. ”I go back every year. I… I have to. Even if you’re not there.”

 

Sylvanas pushes Jaina’s hair back behind her ear. ”Take me with you this time.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Jaina goes to Quel’thalas after Arthas’ destruction, she cannot believe her eyes. In the back of her mind, she had imagined something – a few broken buildings, some knocked-over trees. She had not envisioned a charred land, twisted trees, poisoned growth and the endless undead that crawl through the broken undergrowth. When she comes across a pond, dried up and littered with decaying bodies, she sits on her horse with her mouth moving. She wants to say a prayer, but all the words leave her tongue. There is nothing left to say.

 

Vereesa told her where they buried Sylvanas. Or rather, where the empty grave lies – they never did recover her body. Arthas took it.

 

Jaina knows the place. It is where she first realized she loved Sylvanas. It seems lifetimes ago.

 

The grave overlooks the seas stretching out ahead, a stone noting all her accomplishments, all her titles. She is one of the lucky ones, given a grave among the first. Her people had to honor her for what she tried to do. For all she did do.

 

Jaina dismounts and touches the dirt, dry and gravelly. Nothing has been left untouched by Arthas, it seems. Not here, not in the southern forests she once loved. She spreads the roses she brought with her, but they just look out of place. Is this really the best she can do for Sylvanas? Tears well up and she lets out a sob. Coming here was a mistake.

 

”Cute,” a cold voice says behind her. ”You, crying at my grave.”

 

Jaina whirls around, and she feels the hope enter and leave her in that time. It is Sylvanas, back from the dead, but she is changed. The life has gone out of her. Her bared midriff shows off a stab wound that goes straight though her, her armor ragged and torn, covered in bloody stains. Her hair hangs down limp, tangled. There used to be an almost glow to her, but it has all grown dim. Red eyes glare down at Jaina.

 

Jaina averts her eyes, ashamed. ”They said you were dead.”

 

”I am.” Sylvanas crosses her arms. ”He killed me. And then he brought me back.”

 

”Why?”

 

”I ask myself that every day. Was it because I resisted him? Was it because I stood in his way? Was it because I loved you then? Or was it simply because he was cruel?” Sylvanas shrugs. ”Now he is gone from here, and we don’t know.”

 

Jaina reaches out to touch Sylvanas, but she pulls away, glaring at Jaina’s hand like it might hurt her. ”Don’t.” Her voice is icy steel.

 

”I should have forced you to come with me that day,” Jaina says. ”I should have saved you.”

 

They both remember that day. Jaina begging, on her knees, that Sylvanas would take the portal she had created. Sylvanas allowed the civilians who wanted to take it, but none of the rangers did. They all died with her, of course, loyal to the end and beyond.

 

Sylvanas laughs bitterly. ”Maybe you should have. Would it make you feel better? Forcing me to abandon my duty and people? Is that what you want?”

 

”I would never–”

 

”Never,  _ever_  make me do that.”

 

Jaina flinches, the hurt rising up like bile in her throat, but she nods.

 

”Not that you ever would be brave enough. You’re soft and weak.” Sylvanas twists the dagger in further as she paces around Jaina. ”What did you think you’d get out of coming here?”

 

”Closure.”

 

Sylvanas stops, kicking up the dry dirt. ”Is it what you hoped for?”

 

”I’m sorry. I could have stopped him,” Jaina says.

 

”Why are you telling me this?”

 

”You have a right to know.” Jaina looks to Sylvanas. ”What now?”

 

”Now? Nothing.” Sylvanas spits on the ground. ”Here is an empty grave. Bury your love here. I will.”

 

* * *

 

 

What do you do with knowing the one you loved carries all the guilt for your death? She did not hold the sword. She did not rip you from your corpse and force you to do horrid things to your own people. She is wrong. But Sylvanas does not have the heart to tell her that. Her chest is cold. Her emotions are blunted, all fading away but for one: the bright need for revenge.

 

Sylvanas cannot tell Jaina she did nothing wrong. Sylvanas cannot tell Jaina anything anymore. She spoke so certain back then. Death does that you. Undeath does other things. It ends and ends and ends, and nothing new ever begins in you.

 

Not until she had her revenge.

 

With Arthas dead, a haze lifts from her eyes. An emptiness settles in.

 

It makes her think of Jaina more and more. It makes her miss touching her.

 

Ever since she died, the years have slowed down to a painful grind. Each day stretches out, filled with the annoyances of being in charge. One ache replaces the old one. She has other matters to attend to. Other wars to fight. Her Forsaken to care for. Let time pass enough, and even Jaina will be dead and gone. It is a small comfort. On bad days, it is her only hope: that death will even them out.

 

* * *

 

 

The bronze dragons objected at first. They gave Jaina lectures about the dangers of chrono-magic, of how it could alter things for the worse but that it ever truly did alter anything, that everything was set on a pre-destined path. She knew it already.

 

At last, Chromie relents and gives her some sand. A tiny vial.

 

Enough to start her off.

 

She pours the sand into the scrying pool she has in her study, watching the specks settle at the bottom. Then she touches her finger to the surface and a vision appears. In it she is old and worn, half her face covered in scars. She leans heavy on a staff, watching over an army bathed in holy light. It is another hopeless battle. So the years will pass and they will still fight. So the sacrifices will grow, and Calia’s burning fervor to re-take the throne increasing. On the field, Calia is a beacon of light.

 

It spurs an idea in Jaina. For now, the Alliance holds the ruins of Lordaeron. Next year, who knows.

 

She meets Calia in the remnants of the throne room, where Calia touches the throne in reverence. ”Soon it will truly be mine again,” Calia says. Her skin seems lit from within. She glows in ways people never should. ”Soon, me and my people will have our home.”

 

Jaina shakes her head. ”There is nothing here but ruins. Your kingdom is gone. Your throne is dust. You have done nothing for your subjects in twenty years. Let go of this, or I will make you.”

 

”I am a Menethil. This is my birth-right.”

 

”Calia…”

 

”No. You don’t understand. This is my people. They need me.”

 

”Please, Calia. Listen to yourself. Reconsider. I beg of you.”

 

Calia blinks, slowly. ”What has gotten into you, my dear friend?”

 

”I wish you could see what I have seen, Calia.” Ice begins to creep up on the throne Calia sits on, freezing her legs to it. ”It pains me to do this,” Jaina says as the ice encases Calia inch by inch. ”You were a friend to me once.”

 

”Is it the Banshee who put you up to this? You think she is right? You think she isn’t leading you to ruin, all her people –  _my people_  – to their doom? I can redeem them. I can make the light cleanse them.”

 

”They do not want you, Calia. They do not want your light, nor your reign.”

 

Calia blinds Jaina with a flash, a light so bright that it makes Jaina scream in pain and she loses her hold of the ice spell. She hears it shatter, hears Calia breaks free, but the light… It sears her vision, spots dancing as she blinks desperately. She sees fractured images of Calia approaching, Calia pushing Jaina down to her knees, Calia’s skin cracking because the light cannot be contained.

 

”I see now how that banshee has twisted you,” Calia says, stroking Jaina’s cheek as if she is consoling a crying child. ”Shadows have a way. It is not your fault.”

 

”I love her.” Jaina tries to move away from Calia’s hand. It’s too warm. Like a hot iron against her skin. ”That is all on me.”

 

”How can anyone love death?” Calia is still a blur of light in Jaina’s field of vision, hard to focus on. ”Jaina. Sweet Jaina. We were friends. And for that, I will forgive you. The light forgives. The light redeems.”

 

Jaina grimaces, a surge of pain coursing through her. ”I don’t want your light! I don’t want anything you can do!”

 

Calia cups Jaina’s face between her hands, holding her in a vice-like grip as she pulls Jaina up onto her feet. ”I always suspected. But now I must know. Were you the one who killed Anduin? Were you the one who let assassins in? How long have you conspired with her to bring down the Alliance?”

 

”I have given everything to the Alliance.  _Everything_.” A sharp sting hits her heart and Jaina reels, unable to fall down because of how hard Calia is holding her. She can’t even scream because of how painful the pulsating ache is.

 

”But you haven’t given the Alliance your heart. Not truly.” Calia looks at her with pity. ”I guess it was to be expected. Still, Jaina: I forgive you. You will atone, to the light, and to the dead…” A bright light erupts, bathing both of them in the white-hot heat of it. And finally, Jaina can scream. The warmth of Calia’s palm turns into a fire, turns into raw unfiltered pain that tears at her skin. ”And you will atone to me.”

 

Then Calia lets her go and Jaina sinks down onto the ground. A scent of burned flesh fills the air, making Jaina gag. She struggles to keep her stomach down.

 

”You understand, don’t you?”

 

Jaina stays silent, trying to touch her left cheek. It stings when her fingers brush against it, but her gloves come away free of blood.

 

”Jaina. The light is good. The light is guiding us to the victory you seem to want to deny your people.”

 

Calia comes closer, and despite Jaina’s instinct to flinch away, she stays.

 

”This is your reminder to be truthful. To the light, to me, and to yourself.”

 

”I see now, sister.” Jaina holds out her hand, asking to be helped up. ”Embrace me. And we will forgive and forget.”

 

The harshness drops from Calia’s face like a mask, and for a moment Jaina recognizes a spectre of the old friend she was. In a time long ago, when they met in Lordaeron. When they swam in the sea, raced their horses through Silverpine forest, teased Arthas mercilessly.

 

When Calia takes Jaina’s hand, ice erupts from Jaina’s fingertips, piercing through hand, arm and chest of Calia. She gasps, struggling.

 

”I forgive you,” Jaina says, more and more shards of ice adding to the ones already impaling Calia. ”And now, you will be forgotten.” The icicles explode, tearing Calia into pieces.

 

Not even the light can mend someone shattered like this.

 

”I’m sorry,” Jaina says out loud. She touches the throbbing scar on her cheek, and pulls up her hood.

 

Whatever victory Jaina hoped to achieve, it never comes. Calia’s legacy is already rooted deep in the new Alliance. It changes nothing. Not really. Futility, at least, is the only thing that they can rely on.

 

* * *

 

 

”Sit with me.”

 

They hear the cries of the dead and the dying. The souls pouring into the shadowlands.

 

Sylvanas pats the ground next to her, and Jaina, tired, stumbles as she sits down and mutters a faint sorry that is barely more than a gasp. Sylvanas unbuckles her shoulder guards, and they fall to the ground. Jaina lets her staff fall too, and she leans her head against Sylvanas’ shoulder.

 

”I’m so tired,” she says, her eyes ringed with dark circles and bloodshot. ”We strategized this battle for months. You have no idea…”

 

”We both did.” Sylvanas kisses Jaina’s hair, tasting smoke and blood.

 

Scavenger birds are already picking at the carcasses, and healers try to help who they can. But the soil runs red. The land is ruined, just like many other battlefields left in the wake of this war.

 

The armies have retreated back, ported out by mages. What remains are the dead and the ones tending to them. And Sylvanas and Jaina, doing what they always do – meeting on the side.

 

”How much longer must I keep doing this?” Jaina asks. ”How many more battles? How many more dead without a single meaningful win?”

 

”We are both losing.”

 

”You raise people to even the battle-field.”

 

Sylvanas points at the human healers, bathed in holy light that goes from their hands into corpses, infusing their bodies. ”And now, so does your side.” The once-dead rise, light dripping like water from their bodies, as they stumble towards safety. Calia’s eternal legacy balancing the equation. It makes Jaina want to laugh, to cry, to tear her hair out.

 

Sylvanas puts an arm around Jaina. ”This will never end. It will keep going. It will keep devouring, like a monstrosity, everything that we have known and loved.”

 

”I know.”

 

”So what are we going to do?”

 

”I don’t know.” Jaina closes her eyes, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. ”I have no ideas on how to stop this.”

 

”Let me break the promise.”

 

Jaina smiles, nuzzling against Sylvanas. ”No.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina tugs at the threads of time, struggling to make sense of it all. Where did she go wrong? Where did this war become the unstoppable force it has become?

 

At night, she tries to sleep, but the scrying pool beckons to her. She is searching for an answer to a simple question: how can I fix this? Who must I kill? What must I sacrifice?

 

The answers return the same: sacrifice love, or the ones you fight for. It is a cruel equation. It is one she rejects, over and over.

 

Duty is a tricky beast. It demands so much. Time, energy, relationships, blood. It ties her to return to the Alliance war room each morning and greet Calia as if she is still a friend, as if the golden glow radiating from Calia’s hands is not a terrifying promise of what the Alliance can be turned into. But she has tied Kul Tiras to this fate, and she will see them through it. She has to. She will give them her blood and sweat and tears and everything.

 

Just. Some days. It is not enough.

 

Torn between her duty to an Alliance she no longer recognizes, and an impossible love, she refuses to make a choice between either. She is toying with fate. Sylvanas reminds her every day about the dangers of this game.

 

* * *

 

”What awaits me, when I die?”

 

”I do not know,” Sylvanas lies. It is the only matter she cannot be truthful about, not with Jaina. Not now that Jaina has made her promise to let her die. ”He ripped me back before I had a chance to see.”

 

Jaina rolls over onto her stomach, stretching out her sore limbs. Sylvanas sits back on the bed, taking in the sight. She is beautiful when naked. Once there were no scars on her body. Now they criss-cross like maps. ”How many assassination attempts have you thwarted?”

 

Jaina laughs, then groans. ”Who even keeps track anymore.”

 

Sylvanas leans down to brush the hair away from Jaina’s neck, placing a tender kiss there, following the curve of her spine to move downwards. She nudges Jaina up on her knees and holds her in place by the hips, her lips teasing the seam where her thighs begin. It always makes Jaina whine and arch her back, pushing against Sylvanas. An invitation to do more to her.

 

Sylvanas can give her that, at least, instead of answers about death.

 

She dips her tongue out and traces the stretch marks on Jaina’s hips with just the tip, digging her nails into the tender warm flesh when Jaina tries to squirm free. ”You know what I want,” she murmurs, thumbs circling the inside of Jaina’s thighs.

 

”Please,” Jaina whimpers. ”Please fuck me.”

 

”Your wish is my command.” Sylvanas brushes her thumb over the folds, keeping her touch featherlight. She wants Jaina to be a needy mess. She wants to hear the way Jaina says her name when she thinks she cannot take it anymore.

 

Jaina is so wet when Sylvanas touches her, just one fingertip pressing in between the folds, one slow firm stroke.

 

”You’re cruel,” Jaina moans when Sylvanas removes the finger, looking back over her shoulder.

 

”I like taking my time with you.” Sylvanas maintains eye contact with Jaina as she licks the finger clean, humming in appreciation. The display makes Jaina blush, from her cheeks to her ears.

 

”Do you want me to beg?”

 

”Always.”

 

Jaina buries her head into the pillow in frustration, groaning loudly. ”You’ll have to work harder than that.”

 

Sylvanas raises an eyebrow. That is a new one.

 

She pushes two fingers into Jaina, curling them. Jaina draws in a sharp breath, tightening around Sylvanas. Taking her time, Sylvanas moves the fingertips just a fraction, pushing against the spot inside that always gets Jaina riled up and panting within minutes.

 

To up the ante, she uses her other hand to thumb at the clit. There is a loud rip in the sheets when she does, and Jaina makes an almost primal sound.

 

She gently teases it out of Jaina, the noises, the bucking back into her hand, but she keeps it controlled. If Jaina’s breathing speeds up, Sylvanas slows down close to a stop just to wrench it out of Jaina. She wants the begging. She wants the pleading. Only today, Jaina is putting up a good fight.

 

The sheets are shredded around Jaina’s hands, and wet bite marks shine on the silken pillow. Her breathing trembles, her knuckles are white. Even her legs are shaking. Still, she is not begging.

 

”You could just give in,” Sylvanas offers. To underline her sentiment, she dips her tongue out and touches the nub with its tip, just a small swirl.

 

”You always ask me to fight back.”

 

”In a way that matters.” Closing her lips around the clit, she sucks on it gently for barely a second before she pulls away.

 

Apparently it is enough for Jaina to snap. She lets out a frustrated scream, half pleasure and half feral snarl, and before Sylvanas has time to react Jaina has her pinned to the bed, their positions reversed.

 

”You are so frustrating,” Jaina mutters, holding Sylvanas’ wrists down with her hands and arms pinned with her legs. When she moves, she is almost within reach of Sylvanas’ mouth. Almost.

 

”Do you want it or not?”

 

Jaina smiles down at her, arching her back a little. Sylvanas struggles to reach, even with her tongue stretched out she can’t quite reach, but Jaina is dripping wet and the smell is driving Sylvanas wild.

 

She glares up at Jaina. ”I yield.”

 

”And I win.” Jaina lets go of Sylvanas’ hands and instantly Sylvanas seizes the chance, cupping Jaina’s ass and bringing her close enough, pushing her tongue inside Jaina. They both groan at the contact.

 

Jaina clings on to the headboard, riding Sylvanas’ tongue until she comes, shaking and trying to get away from the touch, sensitive from the orgasm. Sylvanas does not let up that easily.

 

Flipping them around she has Jaina on her back, watching her tremble as she works three fingers into her. She grabs Jaina’s hair, pulling her up into a kiss. Jaina moans into her mouth as she comes, first once and then on the heels of that a second and third time. She is a shivering mess by the time Sylvanas lets her collapse onto the bed, and Jaina watches in a stupor as Sylvanas licks her fingers clean.

 

* * *

 

On the shores of Quel’thalas, Jaina sheds her cloak and begins digging small holes for the flowers she brought with to go. She has carried them with her all the way, fed them water, and now is re-planting them roots and all on top of Sylvanas’ grave. Black dahlias. Just like she wanted.

 

”Our love should have taken us better places than this,” she says. Her voice breaks a little.

 

Sylvanas runs her fingers through Jaina’s hair, untangling before braiding. Jaina is one of those moods again, the ones that have been more and more frequent since she started messing with time scrying.

 

”You know there were timelines where our love did unite the world?”

 

”It is not this one. Therefore they do not matter.”

 

”I know. Deep down, I know.” She touches the scar on her cheek. ”But do you ever wonder–”

 

”Yes,” Sylvanas cuts her off. ”I wonder every day. What if I had not been so heartless to you that time by my grave? What if I had let myself say yes after Arthas’ death? But it did not happen.”

 

Jaina wrenches her hands. ”For so long, I dreamt of us living by the sea. A house by the shore. A forest around us. Kissing you the first thing in the morning and the last thing before I fall asleep.” She looks around them. ”We were never meant to be.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jaina is sitting at the scrying pool again, but this time she is crying, her tears rippling the waters.

 

”What did you see?” Sylvanas asks, closing the door behind her.

 

”I looked outside this morning. The sky…”

 

Sylvanas knows what she means. The sky has turned a burning red. The dark side of the moon glares down at them. It has ever since Tyrande called upon it. Jaina says it is destroying Tyrande from the inside out. Eating away at her, piece by piece. She sacrifices and sacrifices, cutting bloody swaths across Kalimdor that horrify everyone who witness the aftermath.

 

The redness, some say, is from a spell gone wrong in Silvermoon. Or that it is the sun mourning her dying children, the blood elves. Or that it is the smoke rising from a hundred fires all over tainting the skies. There are so many reasons to mourn these days.

 

Sylvanas removes her cloak and sits down next to Jaina, kissing her neck. ”Why do you still have this?”

 

”I don’t know.”

 

”You fill yourself with regret after regret.” She kisses Jaina’s bare shoulder, peeking out of the loosely buttoned shirt she wears. ”It’s not your burden to bear.”

 

”I don’t want to fight about this today,” Jaina says, shifting away from Sylvanas.

 

”And instead you’ll stare into the futures that never were because what, it makes you feel better?” She grabs Jaina’s hand. ”I am here. You chose me.”

 

Jaina cups Sylvanas’ face, kissing her deep. Their tongues meet and Sylvanas can taste the tears, the saltiness. It is a needy kiss – too needy, too shameful. But Sylvanas takes what she can in these times.

 

As she breaks away, Jaina touches her kiss-swollen lips, then touches Sylvanas’. ”My love for you has ruined the world. And I wish – I wish I regretted it enough to stop. You have made me bad, and I love you still.”

 

Sylvanas gets up. What do you say to something like that? Admit to your crimes? They both know the truth already.

 

* * *

 

 

It is the day. No sun rises over the horizon, clouds blotting out the sky. The light merely changes from one grey to another. They watch it together from the bed, silent.

 

Jaina helps dress Sylvanas, taking her time to make sure the armor fit right. She stayed up late last night polishing it by hand. Is anything she does an act of love anymore? Why not call it an act of selfishness? She keeps the world on fire through being in love.

 

She wants to give Sylvanas a chance. Another one. A thousandth one. It truly is selfishness that drives her.

Her fingers know the paths well, know the lacings and clasps, tighten the strings just enough. She helps Sylvanas into her boots and kisses Sylvanas’ knee when she is finished, resting her forehead on Sylvanas’ thigh.

 

Sylvanas insists on returning the favor. She fills the tub with water and even though it is too hot Jaina sinks into it, letting the warmth undo the knots in her body. Sylvanas pours water over her shoulders, massages her scalp, lathers up her hair and combs it through with lavender-scented oils.

 

”This smells like–” Jaina begins, and Sylvanas kisses her. She was going to say  _this smells like you did when you were alive, when we kissed in Quel’thalas_ , and she understands why Sylvanas needs to silence her. There are so many things they leave unsaid.

 

Sylvanas towels Jaina dry, her fingertips reaching to touch each sensitive spot on Jaina. As she begins to dress Jaina, it becomes too much – there’s something about the scents, the cool fingertips, the tightness of the clothes – and Jaina buries her face in Sylvanas’ neck as she blushes.

 

”Did you–”

 

”Yes,” Jaina croaks out, a little ashamed.

 

”Did it feel that good?”

 

Jaina nods against Sylvanas’ collarbone, and Sylvanas smooths her fingers through Jaina’s damp hair.

 

When she kneels down to do up Jaina’s boots, she kisses the toe of Jaina’s boots. ”I hope you conquer me today. I hope you find the strength.”

 

”Don’t curse me like this,” Jaina begs.

 

Sylvanas kisses Jaina’s knee. ”I am blessing you. I forgive you for whatever you do today.”   
  


Jaina tries to smile, but instead she lets out a broken sob.

 

”Don’t cry,” Sylvanas says, rising up to thumb at the tears under Jaina’s eyes. ”Please.”

 

”I’m sorry.”

 

Sylvanas leans her forehead to Jaina’s. ”We need to be strong today.” Jaina’s skin is so warm it burns Sylvanas’ fingertips to touch her, but she can’t stop. There are so few things she wants, truly wants. She wants this moment to last. She wants this day over with. She wants Jaina to kiss her and not let go. ”It will all be over soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

One second, they are surrounded by the battlefield, mud on their shoes and the clash of weapons ringing in their ears. They need to kill each other. They need to end it. They promised each other, the world, everyone, that this was it. Sylvanas has a dagger in her hand and presses it against Jaina’s throat.

 

”Do something,” Sylvanas whispers. ”Anything.”

 

Jaina clasps at something around her throat and a brilliant blue light envelops the two of them. With the blink of an eye, silence descends. They stand together in a field with billowing green grass as far as the eye can see, dotted with golden flowers.

 

In Jaina’s hands, the vial is broken, the sand spilling out into the soil. She felt it shatter the moment she cast the spell. The glass shards crumble too, as if an advanced entropy takes a hold of it, the chain it hung on rusting and becoming dust.

 

”It worked,” Jaina mumbles, dizzy. ”We made it.”

 

Sylvanas looks up at the sky, the bright sun shining down on them. The sky is back to its rightful blue hue. The furious moon is gone.

 

Sylvanas stares at Jaina, her mouth set in a thin hard line. ”What did you do?”

 

”We are in the future,” Jaina says. A breeze catches the dust in her hands and blows it away. ”Ten thousand years. Everyone we know is dead now. Or should be.”

 

”So who won?”

 

Jaina moves her mouth, tries to put words into existence but then just shrugs, throwing her staff to the side. ”Does it matter? Right now, that is long in the past. It happened and ended without us .”

 

”Maybe they are all annihilated now.”

 

”We will never know. It is out of our hands.” She laughs – no,  _giggles_. Giddy and light, devastated and cut free. It is out of her hands. All of it. All of it gone, leaving her bereft and freed.

 

”How can you be so happy? We abandoned everything.”

 

Jaina sobers up, and she goes down on her knees. ”Leave me now, if you want. I will understand. I know this is cruel of me. Selfish. I won’t hate you if you leave me now.”

 

Sylvanas looks up at the sun again, and then throws down her bow on the ground. ”It is a strange thing to doom us to, all of this.” She removes her glove and clasps Jaina’s hand in hers. ”Your mind works in mysterious ways.” Bringing Jaina’s hand to her lips, she kisses the knuckles. ”You saved the world. And you saved us.”

 

She smiles, and then both laugh, delirious with relief and sorrow. They saved the world. They survived.

 

They did it.

 

* * *

 

 

In a battle that happened ten thousand years ago, two mirages of famous commanders of a horrific war clash on the battlefield. Jaina Proudmoore and Sylvanas Windrunner look like themselves, but are only arcane relics, a spell that crumbles within minutes.

 

In their final moments of existing, both sink a blade through the other, and they die in each other’s arms. Their bodies are presumed lost, buried under all the others, deep under mud and blood.

 

Years later, after truces and peace has settled in, Vereesa travels alone to Sylvanas’ gravestone and cuts through the wild roses that have overtaken it to carve another name on the stone.  _Here rests Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Quel’thalas, who gave everything for her people._ Beneath it, Vereesa adds:  _And Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of the sea, her only true love._


End file.
